


In Essence Of

by orangescribbles



Category: Servamp (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Kuro-centric, Not Beta'd, god AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 14:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17551235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangescribbles/pseuds/orangescribbles
Summary: Sleepy Ash thinks that all he is now is all he will ever be.





	In Essence Of

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ReverberatingEchoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReverberatingEchoes/gifts).



> To my dear friend ReverberatingEchoes, who definitely needs a break for the next 300 years, may this find you in good health and spirits!! I was in a slump, generally speaking, before I made this, but somehow managing to put my existential crisis to use by writing this has alleviated parts of it. I certainly hope that it'll do you a similar sort of good, somehow.
> 
> And whoever decides to read this as well, I send the same well wishes your way. Life's hard, but I'm cheering us all on!

For a moment, Sleepy Ash takes the time to consider the consequences of existing. Gods such as he do not live, but they do exist. They come to be more so than come alive—such notions are more reserved for the mortals who trip over themselves to bow at his feet with songs and dance and fevered festivity. When gods are, in mortal terms, born, they do not in the sense of becoming but being. To come alive connotes a sense of never having been, but gods always are. To say a god is one thing is to say a god is another.

Gods simply are.

But humans, the fragile little creatures who live in blinks and gasps, are not. They see only what they currently are but can never truly fathom what they will become. Their existence, Sleepy Ash muses, is a constant cycle of becoming and never being—theirs is an existence that can never reach the pinnacle of their existence.

And what a sad thing it is, he thinks.

Unlike the mortals, gods are one and all things at once. For he who is Sleepy Ash today, being less than— _Sleepy Ash / Unfettered Sloth / Death / Tsukuyomi / Shiva_ —all he is tomorrow is a strange concept. To take some from Sleepy Ash is to take all.

But there is perhaps a tragedy to be found in such perfection.

To be a god means to be stagnant, to never have need to grasp the unattainable, to wonder what it means to bleed and cry and sweat over possibilities, to stay atop their eternal thrones and never cease to be.

 

 

——

 

 

If Sleepy Ash is now a murderer—or more precisely, a kin-slayer—then he has always been a murderer. He wonders if his Creator has always know.

Blood slides down his fingers in languid streams. It feels foreign, unknown, to Sleepy Ash. The way it drips onto the floor is louder than he thinks possible. Before him is his Creator, the truest and oldest of the gods—the most ancient of them all. Their form is crumpled and unmoving, somehow still corporeal and solid.

The vulnerability of mortals lies before him, in the form of a god slain in human skin. Had the Creator been in their true form—untouchable, formless, abstract and encompassing—such a death could not have been possible. Gods do not die, after all.

And now, no more gods will come to be.

 

 

——

 

 

Listlessness is a constant companion for Sleepy Ash. It rests heavily in his breaths, slow to take in and slower to bring out. Like this, he comes to the living as _Hypnos_ to beckon them to sleep; to the dying he tells them he is _Thanatos_ when he coaxes them to eternal rest. A single god, but more as always.

The humans misunderstand; they take to calling him _Hypnos_ and _Thanatos_ under the idea of two gods. Sleepy Ash does not correct them. Their ignorance amuses him.

 

 

——

 

 

Often times, the mortals attach graspable imagery to gods. For Sleepy Ash, they often sing of a god who is the personification of war and death. Their dances pay tribute to bloodied battles and slain warriors of both sides. It is a terribly summarised understanding of who he is—he is more, always and forever more.

The reality of him is that he is the clash of metal, the whispering cacophony behind their ears, the dragging weight upon their shoulders, the renewing destruction and rebirth, the waxing and waning, the tempting lull of sleep.

But as always, Sleepy Ash leaves them be.

 

 

——

 

 

The last time Sleepy Ash has ever seen his siblings—the first six of them—is set sometime before he murdered their Creator. They had debated in a secluded space, between the recess of the northern and southern sea, about what to do with their Creator. The birth of new gods are no concern to them, usually, but the winds are heralding something different these years. Something more ominous is coming to the horizon by the call of the Creator yet—

And yet, there is still the matter of having need of a tie-breaker of to kill or not to kill.

Had they been mortal, perhaps it would have been a defining moment of who they are but gods have always been who they are from the start. Sleepy Ash thinks it was but a moment of suddenly knowing the others and the unsaid parts of their being.

 

 

——

 

 

With the rise of new cities and new technology, the gods have receded into some form of obscurity. The need for mortal faith is, as it has always been, nonexistent. More than a need, it is a want. Their existence is founded more on simply being than anything else. Their abstract forms do not decay nor rot, but neither does it grow.

Some of them tie themselves to a human, sometimes returning with renewed sense of being. Sometimes they do not return at all. Sleepy Ash cares little for them. The era of gods is an idiotic thing.

They can do as they want, just as Sleepy Ash does what he wants.

 

 

——

 

 

One day, between the beginning and the now certainly, Sleepy Ash chances upon one of his siblings. When he calls him by name, his sibling replies, “My name is Hugh now.”

It is another name to match his _Old One / Infallible Pride / Founding Structures / Odin / Bathala_.

“Has it always been?” Sleepy Ash asks. The set of his brother’s small shoulders is proud, unweighted.

Old One, or rather Hugh, shakes his head. In this graspable form, he is a short thing, looking more like a human child than the rising form of unbendable smoke that Sleepy Ash is accustomed to. “I am Hugh only just now. I have never been Hugh before.”

Sleepy Ash purses his lips. Odd, he thinks. “You mean, you have never been Hugh first?”

“No,” Hugh chuckles and draws himself up in the same motion that smoke would furl upwards, his dark curls bouncing, “I have never been Hugh even from the start.”

“Ah.” Sleepy Ash says and leaves it at that.

 

 

——

 

 

Sleepy Ash comes across Lawless by accident. His brother does not see him, being in the mortal body that he is, but Sleepy Ash has yet to take on a form that is not that of a god.

He spends a few moments to watch his younger brother, watches how those few moments constitute as the several lives of a mortal. Lawless goes from mortal to mortal, a beguiling smile on his face each time as if the blood trails behind him are nonexistent. There are things that do not change, after all, and a god is one of them.

But Lawless takes on several forms and several names that stand differently from his _Lawless / Unending Greed / Muse / Dionysus / Caishen_. It sticks easily to him, as it should, but Sleepy Ash sees how he shreds them off like it means nothing at each end. His relationship with the humans are just as meaningless—wavering between friend and lover and acquaintance and rival, but never quite all at the same time. Not the way it is for gods. Such things should be unthinkable, to be one is to be all and to throw one is to throw all. Even if Lawless is in mortal form, he is still a god.

Fleetingly, he wonders if that is no longer the case.

The last he sees of his brother is when he goes to a pianist; Sleepy Ash wonders if Lawless follows his would-be children only to kill them.

 

 

——

 

 

Tiring of the world of gods, Sleepy Ash deigns it time to at long last take the form of a mortal. It is a stifling thing, choking and containing and so very limiting. The whispering cries of destruction and rebirth, the constant push and pull, the horribly dragging weight on his ankles are—not gone—dulled.

In its place at the forefront of his existence are now the green expanse of a forest, the caressing press of wind, the soft rustle of leaves, the sweet aroma of flora, the lingering taste of rain. Sleepy Ash feels overwhelmed despite himself. There is much to be felt in a body as limited as a mortal’s. There is too much for something that is too little.

He pities the creatures.

 

 

——

 

 

He walks the expanse of Europe, sees the way they have depictions of who they think are the gods. On the crests of some families are the symbolic blessings that come from the names of _Titania, Arthur, Idunn, Zeus_ and multiple others. It is entertaining, in a way, to see them squabble under different banners even when those very banners span from the same god. Even more so are the altercations that arise from stories, especially within taverns and bars.

One says a god did this and another refutes it with that, and before long, the entire establishment is involved in an argument.

Sleepy Ash swallows a chuckle behind his drink. The mortals act as though their accounts are firsthand. If anything, it is secondhand at best, for the stories of gods are from gods. Whatever mistakes there are, are from the passing from one mortal to the next. Perfection cannot be expected from creatures so ephemeral after all.

Setting down his glass, Sleepy Ash leaves Europe and follows the same path _Apollo / Helios / Ra_ takes to become _Xihe / Savitr / Amaterasu_ to the mortals.

 

 

——

 

 

The body of a mortal catches Sleepy Ash unawares. Beyond the near constant sensory overload from the outside—and how he wonders about that, surely his siblings must have regretted such a body as soon as they set foot upon the earth—is the feeling of being physically. He is contained and there, he moves and sees that he does rather than having the impression of it. The proof of his being is he himself.

If this is the way of mortals, Sleepy Ash questions why it is that mortals always seem to seek proof beyond that.

 

 

——

 

 

Travelling as mortals do is something of a tiring affair. The soles of his feet are sore and exhaustion lays far too snuggly over his eyelids that it draws dark circle beneath them in simple strokes. He entertains resting where he is, but supposes that mortals may not take kindly to a body in their way. More trouble for him if he is right.

Finding an alleyway, Sleepy Ash breathes and allows himself to take the small form of a cat. Mortal bodied as he is, Sleepy Ash is still a god—will always be a god.

Unobtrusive and quiet, no one will bother him here.

 

 

——

 

 

A boy picks him up, his face open with worry and concern. The brown of his eyes almost has Sleepy Ash whispering _Cernunnos_ in quiet confusion.

 

 

——

 

 

In his mortal form, Sleepy Ash is tall. He easily stands above most of the others with his long legs and broad shoulders, but it is not something he wants. Doing so calls attention to him, so he takes to slouching and wonders why eyes are drawn to him regardless.

He finds a mirror. The face that looks back to him is honest and tired, blue hair falling over sharp red eyes and framing a strong jawline. Slowly, he presses a long finger against his cheek and follows the slope of his nose as he wonders if this is what mortals would find handsome.

It reminds Sleepy Ash of the ocean, of a deep sea creature that drowns ships without care.

Afterwards, he purchases a hooded jacket to hide his face.

 

 

——

 

 

“I’ll name you Kuro!” The boy says with a bright smile as he lifts Sleepy Ash into the air. The brightness of his smile is blinding; Sleepy Ash wonders if this boy is the flesh incarnation of _Amaterasu / Apollo / Mithra / Chup Kamui_.

But his thoughts halt, and the name _Kuro_ partially slots itself into him. It fits, or could fit if it were pushed more thoroughly into him and the feel of it is decidedly different from the other times Sleepy Ash had taken on other names.

The boy giggles and sets Sleepy Ash down as gently as he can.

 

 

——

 

 

Like this, in a body meant to feel pain and hunger and nothing at all so keenly, Sleepy Ash thinks he feels the weight of being a murderer on his shoulders. It claws at him more strongly than any other name and title ever has, and he wonders if instead of Sleepy Ash, he is first and foremost a murderer.

To come to be as a murderer and know only of it later on is be a horrible thing.

 

 

——

 

 

How unfortunate, that gods cannot choose.

 

 

——

 

 

The morning after Mahiru—the boy—picked Sleepy Ash up, he prepares to leave for school. He patters around the apartment doing multiple chores before quietly bidding Sleepy Ash farewell.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, Kuro.” Mahiru slides his fingers across Sleepy Ash’s forehead with gentle strokes. In the wake of the lingering touch is the echo of the name—

_Kuro / Kuro / Kuro / Kuro / Kuro_

 

 

——

 

 

Once, Sleepy Ash injured himself between Europe and Asia. The cut was shallow, but the novelty of it made it feel sharper than it should have been.

He took longer than was necessary to stare at the wound. Blood peaked behind the opening, but it did not spill.

Not the way the Creator’s had all those years ago.

 

 

——

 

 

After Mahiru returns, the ensuing events are little more than a blur. It begins with a startled shriek and ends with the call of a name—a name that settles over him with a weight that matches the feeling of being there as he is now instead of as he was before. It causes a chain to form between him and Mahiru, a binding link that ties them together forevermore. It is something of a vow similar to the ones between a god and their truest of followers, yet not quite. It could be more, or could be less.

Perhaps as Old One—Hugh and Lawless had, Sleepy Ash can take the name on for himself like the dawn of a new day. He can be this and more, as always.

But he cannot—Sleepy Ash can only be what he always has been from the start.

 

 

——

 

 

A new sibling stands before him, knowing much of him and yet a complete mystery himself. Sleepy Ash knows absolutely nothing of Who Is Coming, or Tsubaki as the youngest of all the gods insists, but Sleepy Ash has never at any point in his life been all-knowing.

If he were, he thinks the dread of encountering more remnants of the Creator might have been less poignant.

Tsubaki takes a swing at Mahiru when the boy calls out the loneliness in his existence, and Sleepy Ash is forced to discard his train of thought. Mortals are quick to die, and Sleepy Ash is now a mortal while Mahiru has never been anything but.

The edges of his vision blur as a butterfly flutters in his periphery.

 

 

——

 

 

His existence weighs heavily on his shoulders, reminders echoing loudly with each breath he takes despite how dull everything is.

Sleepy Ash did not choose this. He did not.

 

 

——

 

 

When Sleepy Ash comes to, he can feel one of his siblings nearby. The softness of affection, the ferocity of lust and the mystery of love stand a ways from him.

 _All of Love / Bubbling Lust / Paramour / Freyr / Aphrodite_ watches him with wary eyes, as if expecting Sleepy Ash to both break and be broken in equal measures. Sleepy Ash murmurs a name, unsure which of this brother stands before him.

“I am Lily, now.” All of Love—Lily tells him. It reminds Sleepy Ash of Hugh, of Hugh and his childlike form and the lack of unbending, unyielding smoke. But unlike Hugh, Lily has the form of an older mortal whose planes are soft and hair golden like dandelions. Somehow, it is a form that suits the formless part of his brother which once constituted of clandestine whispers in the deep night.

“And you never have been before, right?” Sleepy Ash says but as much of it is a question, it is a statement. Personally, he has yet to understand but there is more trouble for him to question such things.

“Yes. And are you Kuro now?” The expression on Lily’s face is considering and curious, but he says nothing more. Not even when Sleepy Ash does not answer. Lily knows either way.

Later on, Mahiru declares that they must look for Sleepy Ash’s other siblings.

 

 

——

 

 

One by one, his siblings return into his life as he returns into theirs. Some take to him kindly—Hugh—while others are neutral— _The Mother / Burning Wrath / Maternity / Izanami / Hera_ and _End of World / Consuming Gluttony / Predator / Plutus / Ah Tabai_.

But there is also one who detests the very sight of Sleepy Ash—Lawless. His fury rivals that of The Mother, but his hurts are more comparable to a betrayed child at its core. The trust that once was there between Sleepy Ash and Lawless is gone, perhaps burned down by heavenly fires.

Lawless tries to kill Sleepy Ash, he almost does but Mahiru is there. Mahiru is there and in danger; for now, his brother cannot have his way.

 

 

——

 

 

Sleepy Ash did not choose this—the weight, the burden, the responsibility—he did not. As the eldest of them, it was inevitable. He did not choose, it was already chosen from the beginning.

He did not choose to be a murderer.

 

 

——

 

 

There is a lull that Mahiru brings despite his sun-bright existence and loud nagging. It quiets the parts of Sleepy Ash that continue to scream in his head even when all else is muffled by mortality. It is as if Mahiru can overcome the cacophony with his smile alone, and Sleepy Ash finds himself unable to look away.

“Kuro!” Mahiru calls, expectant and irritable from his place in the kitchen. “Stop making a mess and help me clean!”

“Troublesome,” Sleepy Ash murmurs but revels in the quiet of his head. Mahiru is an anomaly, sometimes he can be like _Ra_ and other times he can be like _Gaia_ and other times he is like both. But Mahiru is no god.

Mahiru is mortal.

 

 

——

 

 

Mortals have grown in their ways. Change comes easily to them in their short-lived lives and not even the most traditional of things are spared from such things. Sleepy Ash knows, as there are few things more ancient than gods and prayers.

Where once a slaughter heralded an offering, the sounds of claps lay in its place. Prayers are lifted still, but the dead are no longer offered. Game and harvest become the norm as a companion to song and dance. There is somehow more devotion in this way, he thinks.

Sleepy Ash gives them his blessing, letting his own words fill the spaces as unobtrusively as possible.

He is after all, still a god.

 

 

——

 

 

Lawless and the pianist, Licht, get taken. The incessant noise in his head is louder than he is used to, even with Mahiru there beside him. The part of him that rose at the sound of Lawless’ accusations overcomes him.

Sleepy Ash is trapped by his own godhood.

 

 

——

 

 

There is a divide between Sleepy Ash and Mahiru now, built by his own nature.

“I’m sorry Kuro,” Mahiru says mournfully. His eyes take on such sorrow and regret that Sleepy Ash wishes that he were, for once, a true mortal unbound by himself if only to comfort him. “This is all my fault—“

No, Sleepy Ash thinks, the fault lies elsewhere. The true blame rests on another’s shoulders.

 

 

——

 

 

 _Kuro_ echoes at the back of his head, ever present but painfully distant from him. Sleepy Ash wishes to be able to be one thing for once, one thing of his choosing but—

But gods cannot choose.

They cannot.

 

 

——

 

 

There is a haze now. Everything he ever was and ever is begins to crawl closer, closer to him. It whispers into his ear even as he folds into himself, entirely unwilling to face what stands before him.

 _Murderer_ , the haze whispers.

 

 

——

 

 

He did what he had to, what he was always meant to do. His existence is a prophecy, he did not choose it.

He did not he did not he did not he did not he did not—

 

 

——

 

 

Mahiru breaks through the haze with a knock and a strong headbutt and a declaration filled with honest words and a promise of companionship and the call of _Kuro / Kuro / Kuro / Kuro / Kuro_. There is a throbbing pain on his forehead, but all he can think of is Mahiru and his _Ekhi_ blessed smile.

“Your name is Kuro.” Mahiru says, but it sounds more of an offered choice than a decision made. His hand is stretched out, and this too is another offered choice. “Now, you too. Call my name anytime.”

Sleepy Ash quirks his lips as he makes a decision and thinks he might be what the mortals call “in-love.”

 

 

——

 

 

The transition is slow, so very unlike when he went from _Sleepy Ash_ to _Shiva_ to _Tsukuyomi_. It will take practice, but he is Kuro now with the same intensity as he never was before.

 _Kuro_ slots easily into him the way he refused to let it the first time Mahiru called him.

 

——

 

They rescue his errant brother and Licht not long after. Sudden newness continues to fuel Kuro that is rather reminiscent of ambrosia. The form Kuro takes is far stronger, far greater, far more alive than _Sleepy Ash_ ever was.

It was never like this before.

“You’re more lion-hearted than you think, Kuro.” Mahiru laughs teasingly over the rush of air and it is a beautiful sound. He says it as if he played a small part in everything thus far. Wonder and awe course through Kuro, and he thinks it is perhaps no different from the way supplicant followers would feel for him.

Except what he has is more—affectionate, intimate, graspable—personal.

 

 

——

 

 

Lawless tells him his name is Hyde now, and this time he understand what it means to say what a name is.

“Good for you,” Kuro tells him. “My name is Kuro.”

Hyde beams at him before skipping away. The grateful look he sends Mahiru is not missed. Kuro understands that, too.

 

 

——

 

 

Kuro does not attach the name of gods to describe Mahiru anymore. All Mahiru does is in the likeness of himself.

Just as Kuro is Kuro, Mahiru is Mahiru.

 

 

——

 

 

After all the years he thinks can finally begin to understand Hugh and his being Hugh, and Hyde and his being Hyde, and Lily and his being Lily. Now he must understand who Kuro is and what being Kuro means.

It is an exhilarating thing, to say that he is becoming instead of being. That he is not all he is yet, that there is more to come when _Helios_ ventures home to send _Selene_ out only to return again. There is much imperfection regardless, but like this he can be more than his previous aspect of what more is.

 

 

——

 

 

He chose this inasmuch as he chose murder, but now there is no more regret that follows his every new decision. Mahiru calls him, by name, and Kuro knows what his next choice is.

“Mahiru.” Kuro says, like it is the word for blessing and praise in one, like it is the culmination of everything that has ever been presented to him in his entire life.

**Author's Note:**

> Ironically, I'm rather interested in the concept of gods and what being one means. This particular au came about after having a flashback to a reading I had by Rene Descartes about knowing if one's self exists as we think it does. The philosophy he had didn't actually feature here, but it is one of the story's foundations! My usual take on god aus is rather different from this too, especially since they're more like my Hades and Persephone au AHAHA
> 
> I hope, for those who've seen something in this and have read until the end, that you've enjoyed the story. If something doesn't make sense, feel free to ask about it!! Off-screen world-building is pretty fun, heh.
> 
> Lastly, a note that may or may not be important: when I used different gods in a single /// string, it served more as point of definition for a single god while the ones with similar gods in a single /// string was more for a symbolic use.


End file.
